VII

AT five o’clock that afternoon, Dorofée Went
into her blue and white ro0m—to find Michael
standing there, before the little table. “Where
under heaven have you been?” he demanded, set-
ting something down quickly.

“I have been to confess,” said Dorofée with
her angelic smile. “I went into the arcades to do
some shopping-—a little present for dear Paula,
she must be so depressed !—-and then to lunch at
an Arab place, and then——to confess. And what
are you doing, Michael dear? What have you
and Paula done all day?” Dorofée had hung up
the forget-me-not hat and was standing opposite
the little table. Two packets lay upon it—one
had been spilled a little. Dorofée’s eyes were,
quite evidently, upon them.

“Nothing,” returned Michael darkly, watching
her; “why should you think I’d been doing any-
thing?”

“Why, for no particular reason,” his wife
laughed softly, “but that you generally do. I

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